


He Almost Does

by Halfmoon95



Series: Allana Hawke [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-09
Updated: 2018-08-09
Packaged: 2019-06-24 04:51:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15622935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Halfmoon95/pseuds/Halfmoon95
Summary: Three times Fenris almost kissed Hawke. One time he did.





	He Almost Does

**Author's Note:**

> I've been replaying through DA2 and this little drabble happened. Featuring Allana Hawke, a blue/purple mage who really just wants to be left in peace.

_I._

As the weeks go by and the memories of her touch still linger -  _hands in his hair, lips against his neck, heartbeat pounding in her chest so powerfully he can feel it as if he is holding it in his hand_ \- Fenris finds he is powerless to leave her side even as he is powerless to stand there. He ties her mark around his wrist as his penance, as his punishment, to show them all that he is hers though he will never be worthy of claiming her and she will never know the hold she has on him.

She never asks for an explanation. That is what shames him  the most.

Still, when her mother dies - and where is the justice in  _that,_ he wonders, in that horrible bitter irony that magic, that spark of brightness Hawke guards and tenders so carefully would be what lets the darkness seep into her life - he goes to her. He creeps on silent feet through her home that feels too large and finds her sitting motionless on the bed, staring into the flames, and he  _aches_ for her even as he burns with anger on her behalf.

He offers his presence, knowing what little comfort it will bring.

“Is it my fault she’s gone?” Allana asks, violet eyes shining with tears instead of her sparks. He has never heard her voice so soft. He has never seen her look as small as she is.

He wants to kiss her. He wants to catch each tear with gentle lips, to warm the chill he knows has settled into her stomach, to erase her doubt, to make her understand,  _he wants -_

He almost does.

But he can’t.

So he doesn’t.

 

_II._

_“_ Maker’s breath, why is it that all my friends insist on traipsing through Kirkwall’s  _sewers?”_ Allana groans as they trudge up the steps to Hightown.

Fenris, as always, trails a few paces behind, watching as Hawke tries in vain to wipe some of the grime from the sleeves of her blue robes.

“I don’t mind the killing people,” she continues, making Aveline click her tongue in disapproval. “It’s the damned  _smell._ I will  _never_ get this smell out of my hair.”

She will, he knows. She’ll ask Orana and Bodahn to fill her cauldron of a tub with scalding water and she’ll soak away the day until her skin smells like spice and citrus and  _Hawke._

There’s a bark from ahead. He reaches for the hilt of his great sword, eyes sweeping the courtyard for the threat. Instead, Hawke’s  mabari comes running with its great tongue lolling between its teeth. It bowls into Hawke’s legs, nearly toppling her, and she laughs before dropping to her knees and throwing her arms around the dog’s neck.

“There you are, boy!” she croons, burying her face in the dog’s short fur. “Did you miss me? Did you have fun while I was away?”

“He is a war hound, Hawke,” Fenris says drily. “Bred for battle.”

She ignores him, scratching the dog’s stomach instead. “I missed you, too. You must get lonely in that big house without me. I’ll bring you on the next adventure, I promise.” She looks up at Fenris and there’s a sparkle in her eyes. “Perhaps he can take Anders’ place. He’d certainly make better conversation, wouldn’t you agree, Fenris?”

And her smile is radiant, blinding, dragging his own smile unbidden from his lips. He extends a hand to help her to her feet, feels the warmth of her fingers as they wrap around his own. He lingers just a moment, staring at her, wanting to use that hand to pull her closer and kiss that smile.

He almost does.

But he can’t.

So he doesn’t.

 

_III._

_“Hawke.”_

He lurches to her side where she lies motionless in the sand, eyes closed. He drops to his knees, hands hovering over her form helplessly.

What can he do? What does he  _do?_ She isn’t moving, she isn’t breathing, she isn’t - 

“Fenris, here!” Varric is there, standing over him, red bottle in his outstretched hand, and Fenris knows it is serious, then, if the dwarf is using his name.

He snatches the bottle, fumbles with the stopper, drags Hawke’s torso into his lap so he can tilt her head back and slosh the potion into her mouth. He massages her throat with the tips of his fingers, willing her to swallow, to breathe, to  _live,_ he can’t - 

She coughs.

Her eyes fly open. She coughs again, shoulders wracking, chest heaving, tears streaming down her cheeks. He helps her sit up and rubs circles between her shoulder blades, waiting for the fit to stop.

When she finally relaxes, she looks around in confusion, exhaustion plain in her gaze. “What are you all staring at?” she demands. “Did we win or not?”

The fist around his heart loosens. His hand trembles as he wipes some of the Wounded Coast’s sand from her cheeks, sticky with sweat and grime and the blood of the man who’d hit her with his shield from behind. He wants to kiss her, to crush his mouth to hers until they are both gasping, until he’s certain that she’s here, that she’s alive, that she is  _his._

He almost does.

But he can’t.

So he doesn’t.

 

_IV._

There is hope in her eyes when she looks up at him from the chair in his mansion. There is hope. There is love. There is a spark that he’d worried was long lost.

He feels - lighter.

There is no threat looming over his head. There is no Danarius. There is a future that is as unknown and undefined as the open sea.

It is terrifying, his freedom.

But she is here. She is here and she is forgiving and she is looking at him not as a former slave but as someone worthy of her.

Hawke is here.

He wants to kiss her. He wants to kiss her gently and fiercely, softly and hard, slowly and deeply and with the echoes of a thousand missed chances pouring from it. He wants to claim her, to be  _claimed_ by her, to allow himself this small bit of happiness even if the world crumbles around them.

If there is a future to be had, then Hawke is it.

He wants to kiss her.

So he does.


End file.
